


Arcadian Academia

by K9_DFTBA



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Brakebills, Canon-Typical Drug Use, Character Study, Welters Challenge, blink and you miss it Q/El, just a lil thing for the
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-08 19:31:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11088411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K9_DFTBA/pseuds/K9_DFTBA
Summary: "It hardly matters what you see. Fate has never cared what you wanted, has it?" The voice said, with such a contemptful hiss that Eliot imagined it was really a biblical snake, descending from the tree to whisper in his ear.Eliot took a long drag, and pushed the image aside as ludicrous and pretentious.Truly, he was worried that when he opened his eyes he would see the Fillorian countryside, and feel the weight of a failure-destined monarchy on his shoulders. He worried that he had so much control over his mind that he had corrupted the pure and childish gut feeling that meant home. He worried that he had manipulated himself beyond recognition.(A ludicrous and pretentious character study of Eliot and his home.)





	Arcadian Academia

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, I didn't mean to write a weirdly deep character study. And yet...  
> This is literally a rambling showcasing how much I love Brakebills and Eliot.  
> I'm not super familiar with this fandom yet, mostly because there simply isn't enough fanworks for me to /get/ familiar with it, so sorry if anything seems out of character.  
> THIS IS BARELY EDITED IM SORRY  
> Anywho, enjoy!

Air brushed through the long, vine-like branches of the tree under which Eliot sat, and he attempted to drown his senses in the noise. It was a valiant effort, but he could still hear a far off rumble, like drums, that reminded him he was likely needed elsewhere. He slid his eyes closed, and focused instead on tactile sensation. He tangled his hands into the grass. He leaned back and allowed the paper bark of the tree to dig into his back. The branches of the tree began brushing across his forehead, and he did not move them.

Then, he blocked all of this out in favor of tasing the cardboard flavored joint hanging loosely from his lips-- specially made, after he had accidently expressed a desire to go home. To his inebriated self, this had made sense, but now? Eliot wasn’t sure what the drug would do. It was meant to put one in a projection of their home, but Eliot wasn’t sure where that was anymore.  

Eliot imagined he felt the air change, and suspected when he opened his eyes he would find the drug’s mirage rather than his true surroundings.  

He did not open his eyes. 

His innate--  _ chosen, faked--  _ aloofness reminded him that he could open them, if he wished. It whispered, comfortingly cold and unfeeling, that nothing he saw had to mean anything. He could-- no, he already had, convinced himself that Fillory could be-- no, was, his home. 

_ It hardly matters what you see. Fate has never cared what you wanted, has it?  _ The voice said, with such a contemptful hiss that Eliot imagined it was really a biblical snake, descending from the tree to whisper in his ear. 

Eliot took a long drag, and pushed the image aside as ludicrous and pretentious. 

Truly, he was worried that when he opened his eyes he would see the Fillorian countryside, and feel the weight of a failure-destined monarchy on his shoulders. He worried that he had so much control over his mind that he had corrupted the pure and childish gut feeling that meant  _ home _ . He worried that he had manipulated himself beyond recognition.

Secondarily, he worried that ‘home’ was something much less philosophical and meaningful than he imagined it to be. He worried that, when he opened his eyes, he would be in the place where he was raised. In his mind's eye, he could already see the field, not unlike the one in Fillory where his body laid, but to him very different. He wondered if the magic would recreate the landscape how he knew it, or project how it was now. He wondered of there would be any physical reminders of the circumstances under which he left; when he pictured where he grew up nowadays, it was shrouded in anger and contempt. 

For a moment, Eliot imagined he could smell the coppery tang of a smell that he associated with the scene. He felt his childhood home creeping up on him, clawing at his throat. All too real memories of screams rang in his ears. Heart clamoring, his eyes flew open to dispel the images burned into his eyelids. 

And suddenly, he was fine. 

He was safe. 

And he was home.

Where else?

_ Brakebills.  _

Eliot would admit, the image being cast was not perfect-- the colors were muted, buildings were hazy, and outlines were overly prominent. And yet… And yet the drug had managed to capture perfectly the feeling of Brakebills.

Eliot breathed deeply, and could feel the very same magic which thrummed through the grounds of Brakebills. He had wondered, multiple times, if the school wasn't more than a school-- if it were conscious, in some way-- and the mirage had captured that perfectly. 

So, yes, the image was not perfect, but it was good enough that Eliot felt that at any moment, some member of his little scooby-gang would turn a corner and find him. Any moment. 

Unbidden, a thought floated through Eliot’s head: who would the spell show him, if it chose a person to show? He was unsure if it would be someone he associated with Brakebills, or if it would simply be whomever he considered his home. 

Also unbidden, an image flitted across his view. A boy with light brown hair-- no, in the sunlight it was more of a dark blond-- was sitting next to him, slumped down. He was squinting a bit, as if his eyes were heavy. He reached up to tuck his hair behind his ear with a shaking hand which spoke to his anxiousness. Before he could cast his gaze up at Eliot, the image was gone as quickly as it appeared. 

A sigh, mostly empty, vaguely bitter, escaped Eliot’s lips. He let his mind wander again, refusing to dwell on the moment. 

Looking around, he wondered if he hadn’t been right on both counts, before. Maybe home was just where you were raised-- where you grew up. But maybe those things weren’t as simple as they seemed. Brakebills, and the people of Brakebills, raised him, in a way. He became who he is at Brakebills-- because of Brakebills. 

He heard a laugh, off in the distance, feminine and light. It sounded as if several steps of footsteps were heading towards him. The noise was a little off, as if heard through water, but he let himself believe it was real. With the promise of friendly faces coming to see him soon, it was undeniable that this was his home.

And yet, it was almost as if this little visit to Brakebills was planting a new idea in his mind, and filling his veins with the fire he needed to carry it out. Because Brakebills was a school-- her purpose was to help her students move forward. Being here, it was as if Brakebills’ magic was whispering to him, telling him he’d found his purpose-- that it was time to move on. 

The noises of approach were louder, now. Eliot imagined if he called out, they would hear him. 

Yes, Brakebills was Eliot’s home, but maybe what made that true was the same thing that would let him move on. 

Soon, Fillory would be his home, and he would be okay with that. Maybe it would never be home the same way Brakebills was, but the people of Fillory were his people, and that could be enough. His time at Brakebills had taught him loyalty, and strength, and intelligence, and those same things would help him lead Fillory to a brighter future. 

The noises were directly in front of him now. The last thing Eliot saw before he awoke back in Fillory were broad smiles on familiar faces. Maybe he would never see Brakebills again. But those smiles, he would see those again-- soon, if he had anything to say about it--  and maybe because of that, he could be okay. 

Awaking back in Fillory, the drum-like noise was much less pleasant than before. Before, it was an annoyance, an irritant. Now, it was a fear-inducing threat. Because now he had a future-- a home-- to protect. 

**Author's Note:**

> Pleeeaaassseee talk to me in the comments. Like I said, I don't get this fandom yet, so I'd love feedback on what I'm doing right and what I'm not.  
> I'm setting my sights on more stereotypical fics for the rest of the welters challenge. IDK abt ya'll, but I think the magicians ao3 tag could use some more happy endings. I'm thinking cheesy AU's, lots of them.  
> XOXO,  
> K


End file.
